


loving him was red (like the colours in autumn, so bright just before they lose it all)

by orphan_account



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Falling In Love, Fix-It of Sorts, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Making Love, Memories, Open to Interpretation, Post-Canon, Romance, Summer Love, Summer Romance, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 07:39:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12836421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Losing him was blue like I'd never known,Missing him was dark grey all alone,Forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you never met,But loving him was red."*Emptiness.That was what he felt when he lay in the bed the morning of. When the phone call had come, his heart had plummeted into his stomach. When the invitation came, he wondered if he’d ever smile freely again. And now, it was the morning of Oliver’s wedding and Elio was still lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling.





	loving him was red (like the colours in autumn, so bright just before they lose it all)

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea in my head for days after listening to old Taylor Swift songs. 
> 
> Note: Elio is eighteen here. I own no one. Any mistakes are my own.

* * *

Elio wondered if love always felt so heart wrenchingly painful.

If his chest would ever feel less tight. If every day when he heard the phone call or a letter slotting through the letterbox, he’d ever stop hoping it would be Oliver’s voice or words to caress his eyes and heart. Or if they would ever stop hurting him. Ever stop piercing his heart, ever stop wrapping around his throat, forcing him to cry and scream until he couldn’t anymore. Until his nose bled and his eyes were red-rimmed. Until his stomach ached like it had when Oliver touched him, kissed him, held him, made love to him, but this ache was different, it was painful and torturous; a cruel reminder of what had been pleasurable and loved and wanted and needed and _oh_.

An ache that flooded his chest and made him feel short of breath, an ache that took away the fluttering butterflies in his stomach, an ache that took away the good kind, the yearning ache that he had felt all summer, the ache that he had greeted and loved and hated and wanted and _then._

Emptiness.

That was what he felt when he lay in the bed the _morning of_. When the phone call had come, his heart had plummeted into his stomach. When the invitation came, he wondered if he’d ever smile freely again. And now, it was the morning of Oliver’s wedding and Elio was still lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

His memories of Oliver were frozen in time. Before he left. Before this sorrow. Where he could dwell on all the places he had touched, where they had kissed, made love, been together. Now, it meant Oliver was elsewhere, he was not in Italy, he was moving and living and in an entirely different life that Elio would never be a part of.

Oliver was no longer his. _As_ _if_ , Elio thought, _he had ever been_.

“Elio,” Mafalda said through the door. “There’s a phone call for you.”

It was probably his parents calling to tell him they were at the wedding venue. His parents had gone, but Elio hadn’t had the heart to. It hurt too much. His mother had looked at him sadly when they were leaving. Her face so sorrowful and sad, though she was smiling at him. The way she did when she was trying to tame her motherly instincts of protect and love. She knew the pain he was in and there was nothing she could do to help him.

“I’m coming,” he said, his voice sounded foreign. His father had hugged him for a long time after his mother had let go of him. No words were said between them. They didn’t need any. Elio wondered if it hurt this much when his father lost the person he loved, like he had loved – _loves_ – Oliver.

Elio felt a flash of anger, why hadn’t Oliver fought for him? Why hadn’t he noticed when he replied tearfully on the phone when Oliver had told him of his wedding?

His heart felt numb in his chest. He looked at the sky outside. He wanted to drown himself in the sky’s blue stretches, forget himself in the flowers and smile like his father did. Try to forget the dull thud in his chest every time he closed his eyes and saw Oliver’s.  

Those blue eyes. He remembered them caressing his body, like he would tonight to his wife. Those hands that had held him, lips that had kissed him. He wondered if Oliver would ever tell him the truth. Had he ever loved Elio? Would they go on for the rest of their lives, speaking but never about the thing that needed addressing? And they would meet years from now and wonder how their lives could have been, wishing of a different life, of a different time.

Anger bubbled under his hands. He wanted to scream and shout. _Oliver, Oliver, Oliver_. The thump of his heart pierced his chest, like a dying moan. Replaced with anger, the blinding flash in his eyes, coursing in his belly, wrapping around his broken heart. Months that had gone by with Oliver on the phone and in letters, only for him to tell them about their wedding.

His visit in the winter holidays.

Like nothing had happened. Like he didn’t matter. White hot anger.

He got up and opened the door, walking downstairs. In the living room, he grabbed the phone and put it to his ear. “Hello?”

He wondered how handsome Oliver would look.

Loving him was red, a bright, burning red that took over his body, vibrant like the colour of passion and heat, a flame licking at his spine. Losing him had been blue, a dull blue that ached and nipped and snipped at his skin, leaving him with cuts all over. Missing him was like a pounding, thumping grey, a thundering storm that bubbled and frothed.

Forgetting him was impossible.

It was season of new life and birth. Elio wondered if his love for Oliver would die so that he could love someone else, become someone else.

He could still see Oliver holding him. His hands all over his skin. Lips too. Elio wanted to drown in those memories. In their stories. Of their past. Elio wondered if Oliver was in pain like he was.

Wondered if he cried like Elio did. Wondered if he had cracks in his smile. If the way he held himself was unsure and forced. He wondered if Oliver was still like the summer, the summer nights falling around them, the heat and warmth of a golden sunrise but right now?

He wondered if he was like Elio. Like the bitter snow, the flakes that fell, the cracks in the ground when lightning struck. If he looked like someone else entirely.

He supposed not.  

“Elio.”

“ _Oliver_?”

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't like open endings, like at all, but here I am writing a story with an open-ish ending. I broke my only rule. Ah well. I've been feeling pretty shit lately and needed to get all my sadness out, so this is what it is. I did have another ending planned but this is what happened. 
> 
> Sorry, my loves. Comments, kudos and bookmarks are appreciated!


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